Her revolver was pointed at his breast.
But no sooner did her eyes meet Lawrence's than she gave a start of surprise. A change came over her face and her hand trembled. The muzzle of the revolver sank, was raised, but once more was lowered.
"You—you," she whispered hoarsely. "Oh, God! How can I take your life. You tried to save my father. You pitied me. You—" A softer expression came over her face. She seemed to forget where she was and she whispered, "Then—then I was a girl, an innocent girl, but now—" her voice rose to a shriek. "Now I am a devil; but live; I cannot shoot."
The sound of galloping horses was heard and shouts. Lawrence looked and saw Harry and Jack almost onto them, their revolvers levelled on Billy.
"Great God! don't shoot!" he shouted; and to Billy, "Fly! Fly."
She sank her spurs into her horse and bending low over his neck was away like an arrow, but no avenging bullet followed her.
In a moment Harry and Jack were at Lawrence's side and helped him to his feet. "Captain, you're wounded," cried Harry. "Your side is all bloody." He tore away the coat and shirt.
"Thank Heaven, it's not deep," he exclaimed, "but bleeds freely. How did it happen?"
"I was about to cut down Red Jerry when I received this wound from behind. The same shot must have struck my horse in the back of the head, for he went down like a log."
"And the guerrilla who shot you was the same you told us not to shoot?"
"Yes. She was a woman and she spared my life. I will tell you all about it, but not now."
It was noon before all the men returned from pursuing the guerrillas. Of the band not more than thirty escaped, and most of these by taking to the woods.
When Lawrence gathered his little troop together he found that three had been killed and six wounded, three of them grievously. Of the guerrillas, twenty-five had been slain outright, as many badly wounded, and twenty prisoners had been taken.
Some of the men were for shooting the prisoners. "Red Jerry would not have spared us," they exclaimed.
Lawrence immediately put an end to such talk. "If any of the men have committed crimes that merit death," he said, "they should be convicted by a court-martial. No soldier has a right to put a defenceless man to death for revenge. Barbarity begets barbarity, while mercy appeals to the hearts of the most depraved."
He then told them how his life had been spared by the dreaded wife of Red Jerry.
There was no more talk of shooting the prisoners, and Lawrence noticed that not one of them was insulted or treated brutally.
The Federals remained on the battlefield for three days, caring for the wounded, and Lawrence had it given out that anyone who cared might come to claim the dead or carry away the badly wounded without being molested. The news spread and soon the camp was filled with weeping women and wailing children. Even some men came when they found they could do so safely. From the number of dead and wounded claimed, Lawrence thought Jerry's band must have been made up principally from the neighborhood.
At the end of three days Lawrence began his return march. A couple of farm wagons were pressed into service to convey the wounded. With the slightly wounded who were able to travel he took back with him thirty prisoners and fifty-five horses.
Great was the rejoicing when Rolla was reached, and the success of the expedition became known. Lawrence received a congratulatory message from General Schofield, highly praising him. But there was one Federal officer who did not congratulate Lawrence. Captain Dunlay felt too mortified over his own failure.
Red Jerry still lived. Lawrence had wounded him not only in the arm, but in the thigh. Secreted in the fastnesses of the hills, and tenderly cared for by his wife, he nursed his wounds and thirsted for revenge. Terrible were his imprecations against Lawrence and terrible would be his revenge if ever he got him in his power.
It was fated that he and Lawrence should never meet again. Jerry lived to organize another band and he became even more merciless than ever, and by his side rode his wife, as merciless as he. But there was one secret she never told her husband—that was, that she had spared the life of Lawrence Middleton.
CHAPTER XIX
MARK HAS A RIVAL
It was in September when Mark returned from his last trip. He was so thin and pale that Mr. Chittenden insisted on his taking a few weeks of absolute rest. These weeks were the happiest, as well as the most miserable, that Mark had ever spent. Happy because he was thrown continually in the company of Grace, miserable because he felt a great love springing up in his heart which must never be spoken.
A thousand times he resolved to flee. It would be so easy for him to go on one of his secret missions and never return. But he kept putting off the evil day; it was so near heaven to be near her, to see her every day. He believed he would be content if he could only live as he was always. In his imagination he had invested Grace with more than human attributes, and worshipped her from afar, as he would some angelic being.
Did Grace know the feeling Mark Grafton had for her? The eyes often speak more eloquently than words, and Mark's eyes told her the story of his devotion a hundred times a day. But this knowledge, instead of drawing Grace to him, piqued her. If he loved her why did he remain silent? In all the books she had read, lovers were not backward in telling of their love. But after all, she was glad he was silent, for she was doubtful of her father's approval, and there was that mystery that hung over him, a mystery she had not solved as yet.
"Mark, you are deceiving us," she said boldly one day. "You are not what you pretend to be."
Mark started, but soon recovered his composure. "What makes you think so, Grace?" he asked quietly.
"Because you have represented yourself as a poor, friendless, private soldier. Now, I know you were raised a gentleman. You need not deny it."
"Is that all? I thought—" he stopped.
"Thought what?" asked Grace.
"Nothing, only I am sorry you have such a poor opinion of me, Grace. In saying I am poor and friendless I have not deceived you. I am as poor and as friendless as I have represented."
"But in other things you are silent. You have never told me a word of yourself, of your early life. You only say you are an orphan. Mark, you are not what you pretend. You are holding back something, and I don't like it. Mark, what is it? You can surely trust me as you would a sister."
A look of pain came over Mark's face. "Grace, don't think evil of me," he faltered. "Think of me as a friend, a friend who would willingly die for you, but never anything more than a friend."
He turned away and left her confused, confounded. She saw that he was suffering, but she was angry. He had refused to confide in her. He had even hinted she might think more of him than was wise.
That night as she lay in bed thinking of what he had said, tears of hot anger filled her eyes, "Would die for me," she whispered, "but would never be more than a friend. Who asked him to be more? He is nothing but a presumptuous boy and should be punished." For the next two or three days she was decidedly cool to Mark.
By the first of November Mark felt he had fully recovered his health, and except for his arm he was as well as he ever would be. He told Mr. Chittenden so, and that it was not right for him to stay longer. But Mr. Chittenden asked him not to go, as he had some work he could help him in. He had orders to gather all the provisions and forage possible. A train was coming from Arkansas to get it. Then, some time in the month, a body of recruits from the northern part of the State were expected. Supplies must be gathered for them.
Mark promised to stay, but the change in Grace cut him to the heart. He thought she was angry because he had refused to tell her his secret. Little did he think he had uttered words which cut more deeply.
It was hard for Grace to think the cause of Mark's reticence was that he had fled for committing some criminal act, but what else could it be? She resolved more firmly than ever to discover his secret.
It is not to be supposed that such a girl as Grace had lived to be nineteen years of age without admirers. There was not a young man in the Ozarks but what would have been her slave if she had given him the least encouragement, but she was such a lady, so far above them, that they were content to worship from afar. They well knew they could be no mate for her. But there was one exception, a young man called Thomas Hobson, known as Big Tom.
Big Tom was a splendid specimen of the human animal, tall, broad shouldered, thick chested, and he had the strength of a giant. If the world had been looking for a perfect physical specimen of man it would have found it in Big Tom. There was also an animal beauty about him that captivated and charmed.
His magnificent body was all he had to recommend him. He was a bully by nature, and used his great strength by imposing on others. He was inordinately vain and conceited, and was continually boasting of his prowess. He was thought brave, for no man in the Ozarks dared to stand up against him in a fight, but at heart he was a coward.
During the first year of the war he was active in driving out and maltreating Union men. Living quite a distance from Mr. Chittenden, he had never seen Grace until the time she went to the rescue of Mr. Osborne. He was one of the hanging party. When Grace so unexpectedly appeared on the scene, her excitement and fierce wrath only heightened her beauty, and Tom gazed at her in admiration. He had been one of the most violent in demanding the death of Mr. Osborne, but now he suddenly changed sides and demanded that he be let go.
Much to Grace's disgust he persisted in paying her attention, and at length proposed. Much to his surprise he was not only refused but refused with scorn and contempt. This aroused every evil passion of his nature.
"You will regret this, Grace Chittenden," he cried furiously. "I 'spose you reckon you be too good for me, but I will give you to understand that there is not a gal in the Ozarks, except you, but would jump at the chance to be my wife."
"Go and make one of them jump, then. I want none of you," replied Grace sarcastically, as she slammed the door in his face, leaving him swearing and cursing.
When Mr. Chittenden was informed of what had occurred he sent word to Tom never to set foot on his premises again.
Mr. Chittenden was too big a man for even Tom to defy. But the affair got out and Tom, when he was not present, became the butt of the county over his presumption in aspiring to the daughter of Judge Chittenden. Tom knew of the merriment it caused and his pride was so hurt that he disappeared and was not heard of for over a year. In the fall of 1862 he suddenly appeared in the Ozarks at the head of a band of guerrillas.
The band numbered about fifteen, and he concluded that with this force he would show Judge Chittenden that he was not afraid of him, and that he was as big a man as he was. Therefore, he rode boldly up to the house. He was mounted on a magnificent horse, an immense plume floated from his hat, and he was decked out in all the grandeur of a bandit chief.
Mr. Chittenden was surprised, but concluded that under the circumstances it was policy to treat him with courtesy. Tom had learned to be polite. He did not mention past differences, or ask to see Grace. He had much to say of his prowess in the field, and of the number of Yankees he had killed, and boasted he held a commission as captain signed by General Price. The main object of his visit seemed to be to impress on the Judge his importance. When he learned Mr. Chittenden was engaged in gathering supplies for the Confederate army he proffered his services to help, which the Judge thought best to accept.
He became quite a frequent caller at the house, and as he did not force his attentions on Grace, she thought it best to do nothing to anger him, but saw as little of him as possible.
"Who is this fellow hanging around here?" asked Tom one day of Mr. Chittenden.
"Do you mean Mark Grafton? He is a Confederate soldier who was cruelly wounded at Pea Ridge, and found his way here. Since then he has rendered valuable services as a courier."
Tom did not rest until he had learned all about Mark that he could, and then growled: "A likely story. He never saw Pea Ridge; he was shot in some brawl. He is simply hanging around here to try and work his way into the good graces of your daughter. Look out for him. I have been watching the fellow; he is a sneak."
"Please keep my daughter's name out of your conversation," replied Mr. Chittenden, angrily, "or you and I will have a settlement. As for Mark, he can take care of himself, and if you know when you are well off you won't pick a quarrel with him."
"What! I skeered of that chap! Why, I could crush him with one finger. But no offence, Mr. Chittenden, only you will find I am right."
From that time on Tom became insanely jealous of Mark. What Tom was saying came to the ears of Mark, and a look came into his face which boded no good to Tom.
One day Mark met Tom alone, and as he was about to pass him with a scowling face and no recognition, Mark hailed him with, "Hold on, Hobson, a word with you."
With a growl Tom wheeled his horse and as he did so his hand went to his revolver.
"Hands up! None of that!" And Tom saw Mark had him covered. He also saw a look in his eyes that made him tremble. Death lurked there.
"Tom Hobson, it's time you and I had a reckoning," said Mark. "I hear you have been calling me a sneak and an impostor, but for that I care nothing. I hear you have been linking my name with that of Miss Chittenden. Now, I give you fair warning, if I ever hear of you taking the name of that young lady on your foul lips I will shoot you like a dog."
"So it's all settled between yo' uns?" Tom managed to stammer. "Beg pardon, didn't know it had went that far." Looking into the muzzle of a revolver made Tom very humble.
"Fool!" answered Mark. "Grace Chittenden is not for such as either you or me. Neither of us is worthy to kiss the ground on which she walks. Now ride away and don't look back. If you do you get a bullet."
Tom meekly did as he was bid, but in his heart there raged the passions of a demon, and he swore Mark Grafton should die.
But what did Mark mean by saying Grace was for neither of them? Tom pondered the question long. Light broke in upon him. It must mean that Mark had proposed and been refused, and being jealous of him had taken this way to scare him away. Perhaps Grace had been captivated by his fine appearance after all, and was only waiting for him to propose.
Again was his vanity in the ascendency, and he resolved to propose at the first opportunity. It came quicker than he had thought for. Near Mr. Chittenden's house was a shady nook that overlooked the La Belle. It was where the little river dashed and foamed and smote the rocks that would bar its passage. Here Grace loved to sit and watch the conflict, and here she was when Tom Hobson rode by. His heart gave a great bound, for it was the first opportunity he had had of seeing and speaking to her alone.
Reining in his horse, he dismounted, and making what he thought a most courtly bow, he bade her good evening.
Grace arose, an angry flush on her face, and barely acknowledging his greeting, turned to go.
Stepping in front of her he said, "Please don't go. I have been wanting to speak to yo' un ever since I returned. Yo' un know what I told yo' un when I went away. I'm of the same mind still, though I do be a capting now, and expect to be a kernel befo' the war is over."
"Out of my way," exclaimed Grace, white with rage and trying to push past him.
He caught her by the shoulder, "I reckon yo' un think that sneak of a Mark Grafton loves yo' un, but he don't. He told me so," sneered Tom.
"You lie. Mark Grafton is a soldier and a gentleman and you are a coward. Out of my way."
Her hand sought the bosom of her dress, but Tom did not notice. He was white with rage.
"I'll hev' yo' un yet," he shouted. "All hell can't keep me from heven yo'." He attempted to take her in his arms.
He drew back amazed. For the second time that afternoon he was looking into the muzzle of a revolver, and the hand that held that revolver was as firm and steady as the one that held the first.
He was looking into the muzzle of a revolver.
"Mr. Hobson," said Grace, without a tremor in her voice, "if you do not mount your horse and ride away before I count ten I shall kill you. One, two—"
But Tom did not wait for her to finish; he sprang on his horse and dashed away cursing.
About an hour later, as Mark was returning home, there came the report of a rifle from a hillside and a ball tore away the crown of his hat. All he could see was a little cloud of smoke on the mountain. Putting spurs to his horse he was soon out of danger.
When he reached the house he found Mr. Chittenden in a towering passion. He had just returned, and Grace was telling him of her encounter with Big Tom.
"The wretch is too vile to live," he swore. "I will hunt him to earth, if it takes me a year."
"I am with you," said Mark, showing his hat. "I got that only a few moments ago, so you see I have an account to settle with him, too."
"Why should he shoot at you?" asked Mr. Chittenden, in astonishment.
"You must ask him," answered Mark, carelessly, but as he said it he glanced at Grace. Her face was crimson, and then grew very pale. Had Big Tom told the truth? Had Mark been talking about her to him?
That night it was agreed that the next day a posse should be organized and Big Tom run down, but when morning came it was found Big Tom and his gang had fled during the night.
CHAPTER XX
CAPTURING A TRAIN
It took Lawrence some little time to reorganize his troop, and to fill the places of those who fell in the fight with Red Jerry.
At last all was ready and the start was made. To reach General Blunt by the circuitous route he intended to take would mean a journey of nearly four hundred miles, much of the way through a country not occupied by Federal troops. The guerrilla bands infesting this country were small, however, and he considered that with his fifty men he would be able to cope with any force he might meet.
For subsistence he would have to depend on the country through which he passed. He knew it was sparsely settled, but as his force was small, and the corn crop had ripened, he believed neither his men nor horses would suffer for food.
To Lawrence the mountain scenery was a continual source of delight. It was November, and the leaves of the forest covering the mountain sides and crowning their summits had been touched by the frost, and painted in all colors of the rainbow. It was a magnificent panorama and on so tremendous a scale that all the works of man seemed as nothing in comparison.
Occasionally a small band of guerrillas was seen, but at sight of the Federals they scurried into the hills and were soon lost to view. Only one band attempted to show fight and they were quickly routed with one killed and two wounded, left on the field. One of these stated that the band was commanded by a man called Big Tom, who was wounded early in the action, how badly he did not know.[16]
One day Lawrence stood on a hill overlooking the valley of La Belle. He thought he had never gazed on so lovely a scene, and he wondered who it was who had made his home in that peaceful valley. That it was a home of refinement and luxury was apparent.
As he was looking, to his astonishment, what seemed to be an army came pouring into the valley from the north. It was a motley army, without uniforms, without banners and many without arms. Accompanying the army was a long train composed of every kind of vehicle, from carriages to farm wagons. There was no order in the march, everyone seemed to be traveling as pleased him best.
For a moment Lawrence wondered what it could mean, and then he knew. He had stumbled on the secret route through the Ozarks through which recruits for the South passed. Before Lawrence started on his raid it had been known for some time that numerous small bodies of guerrillas had been gathering, and were making their way to some secret rendezvous, from which they were to start to join Porter in Arkansas.
"How many do you suppose there are?" asked Lawrence of Dan.
"About four or five hundred, I should say."
"Do you think we can handle them?"
"Don't see any reason why we can't," drawled Dan. "Reckon half of them will die of fright when they see us."
Arrangements were quickly made. They were to make a sudden dash and ride the full length of the line, ordering those who had arms to give them up.
Riding into the valley the troop, whooping and yelling like mad men, suddenly dashed upon the unsuspecting recruits. If an army had fallen from the sky they could not have been more astonished. Consternation seized them, and many, leaving everything, fled for the hills, but the greater part of them surrendered, begging for mercy. Not a shot was fired. It was a bloodless victory.
The prisoners were gathered together; they numbered nearly four hundred. Being deprived of all arms, they were powerless. What to do with them was the question.
"The only thing we can do," said Lawrence, "is to parole them."
"And they will keep their parole just as long as we are in sight and no longer," growled Dan.
"Can't help it. It's the only thing we can do."
The train was now thoroughly searched and many of the wagons were found to contain cloth, boots and shoes, and a goodly quantity of powder and shot. All such articles were destroyed and the wagons burnt. The prisoners looked on sullenly.
Lawrence noticed there was a scarcity of provisions, and inquired what it meant. One of the prisoners told him they were suffering from hunger, but had been told they would find plenty of food here in the valley of the La Belle. "We 'uns be jes' starvin'," said the prisoner.
"I will see what I can do," said Lawrence. "If there is food here you will surely get it."
About this time Mr. Chittenden appeared. There had been great excitement at the house when it was known that the Yankees were in the valley and had succeeded in capturing the train. Mr. Chittenden feared that if it became known that he had gathered supplies for the South, not only would he be arrested, but his home and buildings burned.
"I reckon," he said to Grace, "that I will ride down and see what force it is, and who is in command."
"Don't go, father," begged Grace. "You know what you have been doing."
"It is best, Grace. They may not find it out, and if they do, it won't mend matters for me to stay here."
"But, father, you can take to the hills until they are gone."
"What! Leave you here unprotected? Never!"
"Where is Mark?" asked Grace. "I have not seen him for three or four days."
"Gone off on some secret expedition. Said he might be gone several days. Grace, I believe he is trailing Big Tom. He has an idea he will return and wreak his vengeance on us."
Grace turned pale. "What! Mark gone, all alone?" she asked.
"Yes. Mark seems to prefer to go alone. I don't think we are in as much danger from Big Tom as he thinks, but there is no telling. Some of these guerrilla bands are nothing more or less than robbers, and they care little whom they rob. But I must go now. Don't worry. I won't be long."
Mr. Chittenden was gone some two hours, and when he returned he did not seem in the best of spirits. Grace had been anxiously waiting his return.
"How is it, father?" she cried. "I thought I saw smoke."
"Yes, they have burned a great deal of the train," answered Mr. Chittenden, gloomily. "The worst part of it is, it is only a small scouting party that has done the mischief—not over fifty men—and they have captured four hundred prisoners without firing a gun."
"That doesn't look as if one Southern man could whip ten Yankees," replied Grace, with a twinkle in her eyes.
"Grace, I believe you are glad that train was captured," said her father, with more feeling than he had ever manifested toward her.
"I surely am," replied Grace, undaunted. "You well know I am for the Union."
"Grace, beware! Don't trespass on my love for you too much. Perhaps you will rejoice when I am arrested and dragged off to prison."
"You arrested! You dragged off to prison! Father, what do you mean?" gasped Grace, now thoroughly alarmed.
"It means that your dear friends, the Yankees, have found out that I have been gathering supplies for this train. The officer in command has ordered me to turn over everything I have gathered, and threatened to arrest me for being an agent of the South."
"What will be done with all the food and forage you have gathered? Will it be destroyed?" asked Grace.
"No; not all of it, anyway. The captured men are without food and nearly starving. They have been, or will be, paroled and turned back north. They will be given the food for their return journey to Rolla, where they have been ordered to report."
"Why, father, that is grand. The very ones will get the food that you have gathered it for. The officer in command must be a gentleman. What is he like?"
"He is young—not much more than a boy. He seems to know his business; has perfect control over his men. Moreover, he has the appearance of a gentleman. But you can see for yourself, Grace, for I have invited him and his Lieutenant to take supper with us tonight. And—and, Grace, I will not object to your making known your true sentiments. It may save me from a Federal prison."
"Father, if they arrest you, they will have to arrest me, too. I will be the worst rebel in the State. But, father, they won't arrest you. What have you done?"
"What have I done, child? Has not this house been a rendezvous for those passing to and fro between this State and Arkansas? Has not many a plot been hatched right here? Grace, if everything were known, I should not only be arrested, but this house would be burned and the valley rendered desolate. I am afraid this young Captain knows more than he lets on. But there he comes now, with a lot of wagons for the provisions."
The next two hours were busy ones. A detail of prisoners, under guard, was made to load the wagons, and a herd of beef cattle was driven down. The prisoners feasted that night as they had not in many a day. In fact, many of them were not sorry that they had been made prisoners.
When Lawrence and Dan went to keep their engagement to dine with Mr. Chittenden, they met with as cordial a reception as could be expected under the circumstances. Mr. Chittenden was deeply chagrined over the loss of the supplies he had gathered, but he concealed his disappointment as much as possible.
The meal was all that could be desired. Tilly had surpassed herself. To cook for Yankees was to her a new experience. They were the men who were to free her race, and she looked upon them as almost divine beings.
Grace presided at the head of the table, and more than one glance did Lawrence cast at the lovely girl.
"You have a beautiful home here, Mr. Chittenden," said Lawrence. "I almost envy you. In the spring and summer it must be as near Arcadia as one gets in this world. The scenery is magnificent. I never saw a more beautiful sight than the mountains, covered with their flaming foliage."
"Yes, I like it," replied Mr. Chittenden. "I chanced on the valley many years ago, while hunting, and resolved to make it my home. So wild and unsettled was the country then, that for some years I had to get all my supplies from St. Louis."
"What a mercy it is that the ravages of war so far have left it almost untouched," answered Lawrence.
"You are the first Yankees who have favored us with a visit," replied Mr. Chittenden, "and pardon me, but I trust you will be the last. But if we are to be visited again, I hope it will be by your troop, Captain, for, under the circumstances, you have been very kind. I hear fearful stories of ravages committed in other parts of the State."
"Missouri certainly has had her share of the war," replied Lawrence, "but it is the guerrilla warfare that has caused it. I trust you have seen little of it here. Are there many Union men residing among these hills?"
Mr. Chittenden hesitated, then replied: "We did have a few Union men in these parts, but the sentiment was so strong against them that many of them were forced to leave. I do not believe in guerrilla warfare, but am powerless to prevent it."
"From the train I captured," said Lawrence, "I would say you were not a stranger to Confederate troops; in fact, I have learned that this valley is a gateway between Missouri and Arkansas, and that many of the guerrillas we drive out of the northern and central part of the State pass through here, and no doubt many pass back the same way."
Mr. Chittenden winced. "I cannot prevent Confederate troops passing through here," he said, "any more than I can prevent you passing through. I admit my heart is with the South, and I do what little I can to help her; but I am sorry to say I have a traitor in my own household—my daughter here."
"What! Your daughter?" cried Lawrence, in surprise, and he looked at Grace with renewed interest.
"Yes, my daughter; she is heart and soul with you Yankees."
Grace was covered with confusion, and started to rise and leave the table.
"Please don't go, Miss Chittenden," begged Lawrence. "Let me hear from your lips that you love the flag of our common country."
"I hate to differ with father," said Grace, "but I do love the flag. Born and living here as free as the birds of the air, I learned to love freedom. I think this is a wicked, wicked war, waged to perpetuate slavery and to destroy the Union. Father and I don't quarrel. He says I am a girl, and it does not matter much what I believe. That may be; but there is one Union flag still cherished in the Ozarks," and as she said it she put her hand in her bosom and drew forth the little flag she had made in St. Louis. "There is not a day," she continued, "that I don't go out and hold it aloft, that it may be kissed by the winds of heaven, and I pray the day will soon come when it will wave over a reunited country."
Lawrence and Dan could hardly refrain from shouting aloud; even Mr. Chittenden was surprised at the feeling Grace showed.
"There, Grace, that will do," he said, crossly. "Don't make——"
Lawrence stopped him. "Mr. Chittenden," he exclaimed, "I congratulate you on having such a daughter, and you can be thankful that you have."
"I do not see why," answered Mr. Chittenden; "but I am thankful that Grace has until now kept her opinions to herself. It would be rather awkward for me to have it generally known."
Grace was excused, and the men, over their cigars, entered into a general discussion of the war, and how it would terminate, Mr. Chittenden holding that the independence of the South was already as good as secured.
As they were about to go, Lawrence said: "Mr. Chittenden, you may think it a poor return for your hospitality, but I came here tonight with the full intention of arresting you."
Mr. Chittenden could only gasp, "What for?"
"Because you are a dangerous man to the cause I serve. I have learned much while I have been here. Not only are you an agent of the Confederate Government to gather supplies, but your house has been a haven for some of the worst guerrillas which infest the State. Even the infamous Porter found rest and shelter here when he fled South."
Mr. Chittenden stood pale and trembling, for he knew Lawrence was speaking the truth; but he was thinking more of Grace than of himself.
"My God! what will become of my daughter, if I am dragged away to a Federal prison?" he cried.
"Mr. Chittenden, do not fear," answered Lawrence. "I can never arrest the father of such a girl as your daughter, and leave her unprotected. She has saved you, and for her sake be more careful in the future."
"For her sake, I thank you; for myself, I have no apologies to make for what I have done," Mr. Chittenden replied, somewhat haughtily. But in his heart he was not sorry Grace had displayed that little flag.
"By Jove!" exclaimed Lawrence, when he and Dan were alone. "What a girl! She is grand, and such a lady. Who would dream of finding such a girl in the Ozarks? And she is as lovely as a picture—more beautiful than many who reign as belles in St. Louis."
"Look here, Captain," said Dan, solemnly, "don't be falling in love with every pretty face you see. What about that St. Louis girl you are always getting letters from—Lola—confounded childish name—I think you call her. And I've heard you rave about a certain Dorothy, with golden hair. Let the girls alone; they are no good. I never knew a fellow in love who was any good. They go around sighing and writing poetry and making confounded idiots of themselves. I agree that Miss Chittenden is a mighty good-looking girl; but how do you know she isn't fooling us—shook that little flag in our faces to save her father?"
"Oh, Dan, Dan!" laughed Lawrence, "when it comes to girls, you are incorrigible. Dan, tell the truth—were you ever in love?"
"If I ever was, thank God! I am over it," snapped Dan, as he took a chew of tobacco.
Lawrence spent two days in the valley of the La Belle, paroling his prisoners, and loading up their wagons with provisions and forage enough to last to Rolla.
Lawrence started the train back to Rolla, and then bade farewell to the lovely valley, which he left scathless; but for many days there remained before his mental vision the image of the beautiful girl who was loyal to the Union under such adverse circumstances.
All unknown to Lawrence, he had been gone from the valley but a few hours when there came riding up from the South a Confederate cavalry force of one hundred and fifty men, under the command of a Major Powell. They had come to meet the recruits, and had with them a train of empty wagons to take back what was left of the provisions and forage after the recruits were supplied.
When Major Powell learned what had happened, and that all the provisions and forage not given to the recruits had been destroyed, his rage knew no bounds. He first ordered fifty of his men to pursue the train and bring every man back. "Their paroles are not worth the paper they are written on," he roared.
"I will not wait for you," he said to the Captain in command of the fifty, "but shall pursue this audacious Captain Middleton. I will see that not a man of his command gets out of the Ozarks alive."
"That will leave you only one hundred men for the pursuit, Major," said the Captain.
"That is so; but you know we brought arms for one hundred. Call for volunteers from the recruits. Tell them to take the best horses from the train, and report as soon as possible."
The Captain in pursuit of the train had an easier task than he thought, for he had not gone more than five miles when he met nearly two hundred of the men returning, under the leadership of three or four men known as desperate guerrillas. Hardly had the Federals left the train, when a plot was formed to seize it. Nearly half the paroled men entered the plot; those who refused were stripped of everything and sent on their way, destitute.
This reinforcement, so much sooner than expected, greatly elated Major Powell. A mountaineer explained he knew a shorter route than the one the Federals were taking, and although they had several hours' start, he could easily lead a force that could gain their front, and thus they would be hemmed in between the two forces.
Major Powell quickly made his plans. A hundred men, under the command of one of his most trusted officers, were sent to try and get ahead of the Federals, while he, with a hundred more, would follow in quick pursuit.
About this time Mark Grafton appeared on the scene. He, too, brought important news. Believing that Big Tom was contemplating a raid on Mr. Chittenden, and that his sudden departure was only a blind to disarm suspicion, Mark had disguised himself and followed the gang.
"I unearthed the most hellish plot," said Mark. "Big Tom and his gang were to disguise themselves as Federals, raid the plantation of La Belle, kill Mr. Chittenden and me, and carry off Grace, and force her into a marriage with Big Tom. The plot was about to be carried out, when the gang unexpectedly met the force under Captain Middleton, and was routed. And we needn't fear anything from Big Tom for some time, as he is badly wounded."
Mark, on his part, was greatly surprised to hear what had happened in the valley while he was gone. "I would go with you," he said to Major Powell, "but I have an important engagement I must keep. I hope you will overtake and chastise those Yankees as they deserve."
"If I can overtake them, you may depend on it they will get the chastisement," responded the Major, as he rode away.
Mark then related to Mr. Chittenden more fully what he had found out as to Big Tom's plans, and added: "If I were you, Mr. Chittenden, I would say nothing about this to Grace, for it might unnecessarily alarm her. She is safe, at least, until Big Tom gets well. If I did not think so, I would not rest until I had hunted the dog down. As it is, I must be absent for a week or two, but not longer."
Mark waited until nightfall, and then he, too, rode away.
CHAPTER XXI
THE OLD MAN OF THE MOUNTAINS
It was the second day after Lawrence had left the valley of La Belle, and so far nothing of interest had occurred. Lawrence and Dan were riding along side by side, when suddenly a stone struck in the road just ahead of them, causing their horses to rear and plunge. The road ran close to the bluff, and no doubt it was from the top of the bluff that the stone was thrown.
A careful scrutiny of the bluff revealed nothing, and they were about to ride on, when Lawrence suddenly exclaimed: "Hold on! there's a paper wrapped around that stone." Springing from his horse, he secured the paper. It proved to be a rude scrawl, telling them they were being pursued by a hundred men, and that another hundred had been sent to head them off.
"What do you think of that?" asked Lawrence, handing the scrawl to Dan.
Dan deciphered it, after some trouble, and then remarked: "A hoax, probably."
"It's no hoax, Dan. We may as well be prepared."
"But where did the two hundred men come from?" asked Dan. "Even if those fellows who were paroled turned back, they had no arms."
"It's a raiding party from the South, in all probability," answered Lawrence, "and we left just in time to miss them."
"Whew! Why couldn't we have stayed a few hours longer?"
"What! And fought the two hundred?"
"Sure; we could have licked them easily."
"Well, I am not sorry we left. I am not aching for a fight against such odds; but if they overtake us, we will show them what we can do. What puzzles me is, who gave us the warning?"
"Give it up," said Dan.
Harry was now called, and told what had happened. "You take Jack and Bruno and guard the rear. Don't let those fellows get close to us, without our knowing it."
"No danger, as long as Bruno is alive," laughed Harry.
"What about the front?" asked Dan. "We may run into those fellows who have gone to head us off."
"They haven't had time to head us off yet," said Lawrence, "and before they meet us, I want to teach those fellows in the rear a lesson."
The horses began to show signs of weariness, and, coming to a settler's cabin, around which grew a fine field of corn, Lawrence, concluded to halt, rest and feed the horses, and allow the men to make some coffee. There were some fine pigs running around, and two of these were slaughtered. The owner of the corn and hogs made strenuous objections to this appropriation of his property. He was a tall, gaunt mountaineer, and his face showed that he was both cunning and crafty.
"Are you Union or Confed?" asked Lawrence.
After emptying his capacious mouth of an enormous quid of tobacco, he drawled: "I don't know. Yo' uns be the first Yanks I hev seen. I allers reckoned I was a Confed, but now that yo' uns hev tuk my cohn and hawgs, I reckon I be Union. If I be Union, I get pay for my cohn and hawgs, don't I?"
Laughing, Lawrence handed him ten dollars, saying, "I'll bet you a ten against that one that you will be Confed before night. There's a band of Confederate cavalry chasing us."
"Is thar? Then I won't bet," replied the fellow, grinning. "It's too risky. They might p'int a gun at me, and make me yell for Jeff Davis."
"I reckon you wouldn't wait for the gun to be pointed before you yelled," said Lawrence; "but you're welcome to the ten."
"Ought to be fifty," growled the fellow, as he turned and went into the house, and they saw him no more.
That night Major Powell camped on his place, and made free with both his corn and hogs, but he made no objection; neither did he hurrah for Jeff Davis, for he was not there.
The Federals had not gone far from the cabin when the valley narrowed down and the mountains arose steep and precipitous on each side.
"It's lucky," said Dan, "that these hills are not filled with guerrillas, or they would be taking pot-shot at us. I will feel safer——"
He did not finish the sentence, for there came the sharp crack of a rifle from the hillside, and a piece of the crown of Dan's hat went flying through the air. He pulled off his damaged headgear and, gazing ruefully at it exclaimed: "A blame good hat spoiled; but my head is safe."
"Charge the bluff!" shouted Lawrence; but there was no need of the order. A half dozen troopers had already dismounted, and were scaling the bluff to where a small wreath of smoke was seen curling. Before they were half way up, there came the sound of another shot, but this time the whiz of no ball was heard.
Soon the men reached the spot where the smoke had been seen, and their exclamations of surprise were heard.
"What is it?" shouted Lawrence.
"Dead man up here. No signs of any live one."
"Well, look around sharp, and then come down," replied Lawrence.
The men soon returned, and told a strange story.
"We found," said the sergeant in charge, "whom do you think? Our friend who sold us the corn and hogs. He was lying behind a rock; his gun, loaded and cocked, was on the rock, and no doubt he was just going to take another shot at us, when some one shot him through the head from behind. He had just been shot, for the fresh blood was gushing from the wound as we came up. But we neither saw nor could we find any trace of the one who shot him. It's blame curious. I feel creepy. These mountains must be haunted."
"If they are, the spirits who haunt them must be very friendly to us," said Lawrence; "but, as you say, it is a singular circumstance. I can't make it out. Why doesn't the fellow show himself, if he is our friend?"
Many and various were the opinions expressed, but no satisfactory solution was arrived at.
The day closed dark and gloomy; great clouds swept across the sky, and the wind roared through the forest. It became so dark, and traveling so difficult, that Lawrence decided to camp for the night, and risk the chance of being overtaken. The place chosen to camp was a natural amphitheater which ran back into the mountains. It was overhung by the giant trees growing on the mountain.
Supper over, the men sat for some time around their little campfire, talking over the events of the day; but gradually the camp became quiet, and nothing was heard but the stamping of the horses and the roaring of the wind.
It was nearly midnight when the soldiers were aroused, not by the guard, but by Bruno, who came bounding into camp, growling fiercely, every hair on his back erect. He was trembling violently, either from fear or excitement.
"Why, what's the matter, Bruno?" cried Harry. "I never saw you act like this before."
"I believe he is scared," said Lawrence. "Andrew Jackson! Bruno scared!"
"I never knew him to be scared," said Harry, "but I believe he is. See how he trembles."
Before an investigation could be made, the horses began to rear and plunge, and the sentinels called out they were breaking loose.
"See to the horses," shouted Lawrence.
The men were just in time, as several of the horses had broken their halters. As it was, they had hard work to keep them from getting away.
"The horses are badly frightened. They are trembling like leaves," said the men.
"It must be some wild animal," said Lawrence. "Men, stay by the horses; Dan, Harry and I will investigate."
Lawrence took a burning brand from the fire, and all three, well armed, started to find the cause of the trouble. Bruno at first hung back, but when he saw Harry start, he followed; but it was noticed he kept close to his master's side.
The dog kept looking to the cliff back of their encampment. A large tree grew close to the cliff, and an animal could spring into it from the cliff. Cautiously the three men advanced.
"See there," said Dan, pointing up in the tree.
Lawrence looked, and saw up in the tree what looked like two coals of fire.
"Hold your brand where I can see the sights of my gun," whispered Dan.
Lawrence did so. Dan took a quick aim and fired. There came a terrible scream, a crashing among the branches, and then a huge panther lay struggling on the ground, tearing up the earth in his death agony.
Bruno seemed to have recovered from his fright, for he was about to spring on the struggling animal, when Harry cried, "Back, Bruno, back!"
Still Bruno would have rushed to his fate if Lawrence had not struck him a sharp rap over the nose with the burning brand.
At last the beast lay still.
"That was a good shot, Dan," said Lawrence. The ball had struck the panther squarely between the eyes.
"What could have induced him to visit our camp?" asked Harry.
"The smell of the meat the boys roasted for supper," replied Dan. "You know, we brought along some of those pigs we had for dinner."
Some of the soldiers insisted on skinning the beast and taking the skin along as a trophy. As it was, there was little more sleep in the camp, for the horses continued to be restless, and it was hard to keep them quieted.
"The panther's mate may be around," said Dan. "It is well to be on the lookout."
Bruno was of no more use, for he had become sulky and gone and lain down. He could not understand that the blow Lawrence gave him had saved his life.
If there was another panther around, he did not show himself, and at the break of day the troop was once more on the way.
Along in the afternoon, Harry came rapidly riding from the rear, saying the foremost of the pursuers had been sighted. Hardly had he made his report when the faint sound of three or four shots was heard.
"Harry, you, with Dan and Bruno, now take the advance," commanded Lawrence. "That is where we will have to look now for a surprise. Dan, take command, and ride at a good pace. I, with ten men, will look to the rear, and hold back the enemy."
"Why not stop and fight them?" grumbled Dan. "I don't like this idea of running."
"Because I don't wish to have a battle here, if I can help it," replied Lawrence. "If we fight, especially on anything like even terms, some of the men will be sure to be killed or wounded. Think of leaving any of the boys here in the mountains, wounded! It would be better for them to be shot than left wounded, for they would be sure to be murdered by guerrillas."
"Reckon you are right; but it is against my principles to run," sighed Dan.
"Don't be downhearted, old fellow," laughed Lawrence. "I expect to give them a fight; but I want to choose the ground and the manner of fighting."
Dan's face brightened. "That's all right, Captain," he exclaimed. "I might have known you were up to some of your tricks."
Lawrence now rode back to take charge of the rear. Major Powell, knowing he had two men to Lawrence's one, eagerly pressed forward; but his enthusiasm was a little cooled when his advance was driven back with a loss of one killed and two wounded, and he began to be a little more careful.
By taking advantage of every little inequality of ground, Lawrence was able to hold the enemy well in check for some miles; but at length they came to a place where the valley spread out, and flank movements were easy, and it soon became a test of speed and endurance of the horses.
"This will never do," thought Lawrence. "I must find a place to stop and fight them, and that soon."
Leaving the rear guard in charge of a sergeant, he rode rapidly to the front.
"Horses getting winded," said Dan. "We will have to stop and fight."
"At the first favorable place, Dan. Tell the boys to keep up the pace a little longer."
Lawrence now urged his horse to his utmost speed. He rode two or three miles without finding a favorable place for an ambuscade, and was about to halt and choose as good ground as possible and give battle. He had no fears of the result—only that many of his men might be killed or wounded. Just as he came to this conclusion, to his delight, he saw the valley close in front of him. A great hill pushed into it, leaving only a narrow gateway. Beyond this the valley turned, and the force would be entirely concealed by the hill. It took Lawrence but a minute to form his plan of battle. Just before the gateway was reached, the road ran close to the base of the mountain, which was thickly wooded.
Dan, in command of the advance, now dashed up. "Captain, we must fight. The horses are all in."
"Yes, Dan, it's fight now. Dismount your men, and have the horses taken around that point, out of sight. One man can care for six horses. Conceal the rest of your force in the brush along the base of the mountain. Be quick. If I succeed in leading them into the trap, you will know what to do." Thus saying, Lawrence clapped spurs to his horse, and rode for the rear.
Lawrence found the rear guard hard pressed.
"Look out, Captain; they are flanking us, and you are in range," called one of the men.
Just then three or four balls whizzed close to Lawrence's head. Wheeling his horse, he shouted, "Follow me!" and the rear guard went down the road as if in swift retreat. The enemy followed with wild cheers.
The rapid pursuit had strung out the Confederates, and Major Powell had ridden back to hurry up the stragglers, leaving the advance in charge of his senior captain. This officer, thinking the Yankees in full retreat, and that he might gain some honor, pressed the pursuit with vigor.
Straight past where Dan and his men were concealed, Lawrence rode, but he halted his little squad where the valley narrowed.
If the Confederates had not been so eager in the pursuit, they might have seen the bushes tremble or caught the gleam of a gun barrel; but they only had eyes for the flying Yankees. When they saw the Federals had halted, they also halted, taking time to close up, and that was just what Lawrence wanted.
Ordering his men to fire a volley, Lawrence again wheeled as if in retreat.
"Forward!" shouted the Confederate captain. "Charge! Ride over them!"
Suddenly, from the side of the road, there came a crashing volley. The destruction was awful; men and horses went down in heaps.
"Wheel and charge!" shouted Lawrence; and down on the terror-stricken Confederates came Lawrence with his ten men. The panic became a rout. The enemy thought only of getting away. In vain Major Powell tried to stop his men; he, too, was borne back in the confusion.
Quickly as possible, Dan had the horses brought up, and he and his men joined in the pursuit. For two miles it was kept up; then Lawrence ordered a halt. He saw that Major Powell had succeeded in rallying some of his men, and taken a position that could not be carried without loss.
All along the road lay dead and wounded men and horses, and where the first volley was fired the road was filled with the dead and dying.
It was a sight that made Lawrence's heart ache; but he could not stop even to give relief, for Harry and Jack came back with the startling news that there was a large force in front, not more than three miles away.
Lawrence rallied his men, and, to his intense relief, found he had only three men slightly wounded. It was almost a bloodless victory. The question was, what to do now. While debating, one of the men suddenly exclaimed, "Look, there!"
On a rock on the mountain-side, some three hundred yards away, stood the figure of an old man. A long white beard swept his breast, and he was bent with age. He stood leaning on a staff, as if weary.